


Holy Ground

by sunkelles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic Asexual Arya Stark, F/F, Femslash, Modern Westeros, Past Jeyne Poole/Ramsay Bolton, Past partner abuse, Quaranfics, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Shireen & Arya Are Best Friends, written in 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: Shireen Baratheon and Jeyne Poole go to college together and fall in love.
Relationships: Shireen Baratheon/Jeyne Poole
Kudos: 6





	Holy Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [we drove through rain and thunder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440010) by [leapylion3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3). 



> guess who's scavenging her old drafts and robbing their graves? it's ME! this is presented in basically in all its original glory from my first semester of college back in 2015, unrevised, except for transitions. it's kind of a frankenstein-story of lots of different drabbly bits that didn't totally connect when i wrote them, but now they're stitched together. it might be terrible? but it might not be. we're just kind of going with it. 
> 
> this was inspired by the fic "we drove through rain and thunder" but not heavily enough that i feel i should link to it? it's more of a I Didn't Even Think About This Pairing Until I Read It inspiration thing than anything i think? it's been so long at this point i don't remember for sure. 
> 
> this is what aging is, apparently XD

Shireen takes a deep breath as she opens the door to Fairchild Hall. She knows where her classroom is, because she’s already walked her schedule a million times. That doesn’t stop her from worrying that for some reason class was canceled, or the professor decided not to show up, or the entire class died in a freak accident and she’ll end up walking into an empty classroom or the wrong one entirely. 

The florescent lights in the hall light up the white walls and the tan, tile floors and Shireen takes a deep breath. This is exactly where she wants to be, where she’s _meant_ to be. Maester Manderly’s College is the oldest and most prestigious college in the North. Her father wanted her to attend his alma mater, Stormland’s University in Bronzetown, but Shireen had no intention of moving so far from her family and friends in Wintertown. MMU had the best social work program in the North, so Shireen decided to make it her temporary home. She can do this. Shireen opens the door to classroom 133, and slides silently through the other students who have already taken their seats. 

She takes a seat near the front of the room for her English Comp II class, and ends up beside a pretty girl with light skin and dark brown hair. The girl’s fairly cute, and Shireen decides that she should at least talk to her. The other girl _might_ even end up liking girls. 

“Gods,” Shireen says, “how late is the professor running?” 

“At least ten minutes,” the girl says as she checks the time on her phone, “which is odd. Professors don’t normally start running late until at _least_ the second class.” 

“I wouldn’t really know,” Shireen admits, “this is my first class.” 

“Wait?” Jeyne asks, “your first class? You’re a freshman?” 

“That’d be me,” Shireen says, “completely new to all of this.” 

“Don’t worry,” the girl says, “I’m a sophomore, and I figured it out. The name’s Jeyne Poole.” 

“I’m Shireen Baratheon,” Shireen says. She turns her head a little, and by the shocked look on Jeyne’s face, Shireen is guessing that the other girl caught her first glimpse of Shireen’s Greyscale. Jeyne can see that she had an outward reaction, and tries to amend it. 

“Sorry,” she says, “I just- I wasn’t expecting the Greyscale.” 

“It’s alright,” Shireen says, even though it’s not, “most people react worse than that.” 

“No, I really am,” Jeyne says, “I’m not one of those people that run the other way when I spot someone with Greyscale.” 

“You’re not?” Shireen asks as she raises an eyebrow. 

“Not anymore, at least,” Jeyne says sheepishly, “I got better.” 

“Alright, alright,” Shireen says. As long as the other girl keeps talking to her, she supposes she can consider this interaction a victory. She isn’t even openly gawking at the hard, scaly skin running up the left side of Shireen’s face. 

“What are you forging your chain in?” Shireen asks, deciding that’s as good a subject to change the conversation to as anything else. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Jeyne says sheepishly. 

“Oh,” Shireen asks, “undedecided?” 

“They call it Open Option,” Jeyne says, “so I don’t feel like I haven’t got any of my shit together.” 

Her talking turns to groaning as she says, “I’m a _sophomore_. I should have decided this.” 

“It’s alright,” Shireen says, “I’m sure that you’ll figure it out eventually."

“I’m sure that you say that to all of the girls,” Jeyne says, and Shireen can’t tell whether or not it’s pure sarcasm or if there’s a hint of flirtatiousness in it. Shireen grins anyway. 

“What can I say?” Shireen says, “I _do_ like girls.” Jeyne blushes in response, and Shireen wonders if she hasn’t been too forward. She’s never really _flirted_ with a girl she liked before. 

“What about you?” Jeyne asks, “what is little miss confident forging her chain in?” 

“Social work,” she says. 

“The maesters that founded the school would be proud,” Jeyne tells her. 

“I suppose,” she says. Then the professor rushes into the classroom, dropping a few papers on the way. She stammers out an introduction, and Shireen supposes that her conversation is over, at least for the time being. 

By the end of the class, Shireen has the syllabus tucked inside her notebook and a sinking feeling that her high school Comp I class might not have prepared her for the course. 

“Do you want to go to lunch with me?” Shireen asks as her heart beats like a humming bird’s. 

“Of course,” the other girl says with a soft smile,”I was afraid that you wouldn’t ask.” Shireen has to lead the way to the cafeteria, which is a bit of a surprise.

“If you’re a sophomore,” Shireen asks, “why exactly did I have to show you the way. I’m the freshman. You should be mentoring me- showing me the ropes.” 

“I’m a transfer student,” Jeyne says, “so if that’s what you’re looking for, you’d better find yourself another sophomore.” 

“Where’d you transfer from?” Shireen asks as they get in the line for the cafeteria. 

“Dreadfort University,” she says, though she doesn’t seem thrilled to be talking about it. 

“So you’re from Dreadtown?” Shireen asks. 

“Kind of,” Jeyne says, “I lived there for nine years before moving to White Harbor. I lived in Wintertown before that.” 

“Wintertown?” Shireen asks in excitement, “ _I’m_ from Wintertown.” 

“That’s cool,” Jeyne tells her, but then it seems to dawn on her, “wait, do you know Sansa Stark?” 

“Sansa Stark?" Shireen says, “Of course. I’m best friends with her sister.” 

“Wait,” Jeyne says as she turns bright red, “you’re _that_ Shireen?” 

“Yes?” Shireen asks. Jeyne turns bright red. 

“You don’t remember me?” she asks. 

“No,” Shireen says cautiously. 

“I think that’s probably good,” Jeyne says, “I was best friends with Sansa.” And for some reason that pulls the memory deep out of her subconscious, of a little girl with brown-black hair taunting her about her Greyscale at Winterfell, and of Arya socking the girl straight on the nose. 

“That was you?” Shireen asks. 

“I used to be that girl,” Jeyne says, “but I got better. I don’t- I don’t bully people anymore. I just wanted to impress Sansa.” 

“That’s not a very good reason to make fun of someone,” Shireen tells her honestly. She doesn’t think that there would _ever_ be a good reason to make fun of someone. 

“I know,” Jeyne says, “and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Shireen.” Then, Shireen remembers the same little girl, tears streaming down her freckly face, apologizing profusely. 

“It’s alright, Jeyne,” she says, “it’s been like eleven years. And I’ve heard worse.” She's heard a lot worse from people who didn't end up feeling sorry for it, too.

“If anyone says something like that to you now,” Jeyne says, “you don’t need Arya to punch them. I’ll do it myself.” Shireen bites her lip at that, trying to snap herself out of her liquid, lovestruck feeling. She doesn’t want to fall for another girl that doesn’t like girls. 

“You’re sweet,” Shireen tells her. Her phone buzzes, and she checks to see what it is. She sees that it’s a text from Arya. 

“Wintertown’s so boring without you,” it says. 

“I’ve been gone six days,” Shireen texts back. The next text is just a frowny face emoji, and Shireen checks the time. 1:15- she doesn’t have much time to get to her next class. 

“Oh gods,” she says, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got an anthropology course in fifteen minutes.” 

“I’ll walk with you,” Jeyne says, “I _do_ know where the anthropology hall is.” 

“Alright,” Shireen says with a little bit of a smile, “lead the way.” Jeyne smiles at her, as they grab their garbage to toss in the trash can and they hurry out of the cafeteria. 

“You know,” Shireen says, “normally someone’s girlfriend would walk them to class.” 

“We have English again Wednesday,” Jeyne says with a little grin, “maybe we can get to that?” Shireen sends her a smile as she opens the door.

“I’d like that,” she says, and then she takes another look at Jeyne’s smiling face before she enters the building. 

They make it a habit. Shireen and Jeyne walk each other to class, talking and giggling the whole way. They hang out in each other's dorm rooms too, curling up in their tiny little lofted twin beds watching Netflix. It's cozy, and it's sweet, and one day they stop being friends who are girls and just transition to girlfriends like it's nbd. Shireen's little gay heart beats a little faster every time that she thinks about it.

“What do couples do to get to know each other?” Shireen asks. Jeyne bites her lower lip, and looks at the ground for a second. 

“I think that they just talk,” she says, “or we could play twenty questions, if you want.”

“Alright,” Shireen says, lying down on her own bed, “let’s play twenty questions.” 

“Do you want to go first?” Jeyne asks. 

“Sure,” Shireen says. She takes a second to think about what she'd like to know about Jeyne.

Shireen asks, "What do you parents do?"

“My mom’s a linguistics professor at White Harbor Septist,” Jeyne says, “and my dad works at the Merman Museum of Art. Yours?"

“My dad’s an attorney,” Shireen says, “and my mom’s a priestess of R’hllor. She has a temple up at Last Hearth.” 

“You follow R’hllor?” Jeyne asks, and she seems concerned and a little shocked. 

“Gods no” Shireen says, “my mother follow R'hllor, but I follow the old gods.” 

“Okay,” Jeyne says, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Which gods do you follow?” Shireen asks. Jeyne grins at that.

“The Seven, but I think that we’re supposed to keep track of how many questions we ask,” Jeyne says.

“Lets just talk, then,” Shireen says, "I've already lost track." There's a lull, then, one where neither of them knows how to continue the conversation. It's not long before Jeyne scoops in with a new idea for what to talk about, though.

“I love romantic comedies,” Jeyne says, “Florence and Jonah is basically my favorite thing ever.” 

“That’s the movie based on Florian and Jonquil, right?” Shireen asks.

“Yeah,” she says, “only it’s gender bent and it’s set at a clown college.” 

“A clown college?” Shireen asks, “do those actually exist?” 

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Jeyne says, “but it’s still my favorite.” 

“What’s so great about it?” Shireen tries to phrase the question so it doesn’t sound insulting, and she thinks that Jeyne can sense that. The other girl doesn’t respond defensively, at least. 

“I just mean, if those two goofballs can find love, then there’s hope for the rest of us,” Jeyne says, “you know what I mean?” 

“Yeah," Shireen says, grinning, "I think I do." After meeting Jeyne, she's starting to feel like there might be hope for her romantic prospects after all.

“Alright,” Jeyne says, “tell me about some of your favorite movies.” 

“Brienne the Beauty, for sure,” Shireen says immediately. 

"Why's that?"

“They didn’t hire a gorgeous actress to play her,” Shireen says, “and there’s this woman, this different and ugly woman saving the world and falling in love with this super hot guy. I just- I don’t think there’s anything more comforting than that.” 

“I think that your life is a bit better than Brienne of Tarth’s,” Jeyne says. 

“Really?” Shireen asks, “I’m better than Brienne of Tarth? The one that brought about the rebirth of Winterfell? The one that turned Jaime Lannister away from his sister?” 

“Of course. Your love interest is a girl,”Jeyne says with a cheeky little smile. 

“And I really hope that you aren’t sleeping with your sister,” Shireen quips. Jeyne bursts into laughter. 

The flirting continues. The cuddling continues, and eventually, the kissing happens. Kissing leads to touching leads to clothes off. When Shireen glances at Jeyne's back and sees something that distinctly _should not be there_ , she kind of wishes that it hadn't.

“Jeyne,” Shireen says in shock, “what happened to your back?” Jeyne reaches for her shirt, rushing to try to put it on again.

"It's nothing," she says, refusing to make eye contact, "just- just forget you ever saw."

“Jeyne,” Shireen says softly, “You- you can tell me. I promise that I won’t judge you.” 

“I had a boyfriend, back in Dreadtown,” Jeyne says, “and looking back on it, I should have known that he was bad news. But he had this bad boy thing going, and he acted like he liked me. That was more than I’d ever gotten before." Shireen bites her lip. She knows where this going, and she's filled with nothing but dread.

"But then he stopped being nice." Jeyne's voice turns detached then, like she's watching whatever this is play out from far away.

"He started threatening me when I was feeling in the mood," she says, "started... well. You saw my back." She smiles a little, but it's strained- like she's trying to frown but her lips are being pulled back by an outside force.

"I said that I was going to leave him," she says, "and he threatened to tie me to the bed and set my house on fire if I broke up with him." Shireen feels dread creep up her spine. Jeyne shrugs, like she's just... adjusted to this part of her history.

"I told my parents, then," she says, "but my ex? He was the sheriff's son, so they knew we couldn't do much about this anyway. Then, we just packed it up and moved to White Harbor. Seemed like the safest option at the time."

“Jeyne-” 

“I’m alright now,” Jeyne says, though her voice doesn’t sound alright at all, “I just- Seven. You probably never want to talk to me again." There's tears peaking

“Jeyne-” 

I’m- I’m damaged goods.” She says, looking down at her hands, “you deserve better.” 

Shireen doesn’t know how to respond in a way that doesn’t sound trite in the face of this, so she takes Jeyne’s hand in hers. She holds it tightly.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says. And that? That's just about the best she can do, but Jeyne squeezes back. Maybe her futile attempt's worth something after all.

  
  


Time spent in Dreadtown is a topic that's off limits for conversation, but Wintertown and the Stark sisters? That's something that they can bond over freely and happily.

“I think that everyone who likes girls had a crush on Sansa at some point,” Shireen says with a light bit of laughter. 

“You had a crush on Sansa too?” Jeyne asks. 

“Yeah,” Shireen says, “just a little one, though. Most of my high school career was dedicated to being entirely in love with Arya.” She knows that the words come out strained, and she probably shouldn’t have blithely given up such an integral part of herself. But she doesn’t want to keep secrets from Jeyne. 

“Was she straight?” Jeyne asks softly. 

"No, but that doesn't mean she swings our way," Shireen says, “Arya’s ace. And aro. She doesn't swing anyone's wat."

“Aro ace?” Jeyne asks, clearly unfamiliar with the term. 

“Aromantic asexual,” Shireen clarifies, “it means that she’s not interested in anyone romantically or sexually."

“Oh yeah,” Jeyne says, “I met a girl at gsa that was asexual once. I think that she wasn’t aromantic, though. She had a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah,” Shireen says with a grin, “then she wasn’t aromantic.” 

“That must have sucked,” Jeyne says. 

“What?” Shireen asks. 

“Finding out that Arya didn’t like anyone, period,” Jeyne says. 

“Well, yeah,” Shireen says, “it sucked a lot. When she told me she was aro ace, she also said, “I think that if I liked anyone, it would be you.” That probably didn’t help me get over her.” It was a confidence boost, but it kind of made her feel like she had a chance at winning a game Arya wasn't even playing. Jeyne grabs her hand and gives it a little squeeze. 

“ _I_ like you,” Jeyne says. 

Shireen sends her a smile, and says, “I like you too.” And for girls who like girls, that’s half of the battle they’ve already won. 

One night when they're hanging out, Jeyne decides out of the blue that there's somewhere that they have to go. Shireen decides to go with her, of course. They're college kids and they're in love, and everything feels like both a first and a last- but that doesn't mean that she won't ask what's up.

“Okay,” Shireen asks, “where are we driving at one o’clock at night?” 

Jeyne sends her a sly smile and says, “You’ll see.” She bumps up her cruise control as they glide down the highway. She pulls off at the proper exit, and then follows the path beaten into the grass to the small, wooden cabin. Jeyne parks the car, and opens up her car door. Shireen follows suit, and pulls up her phone flashlight. It's still dark, but she can kind of see what's around her now. It looks like the great Northern wilderness, alright. Jeyne pops her trunk and Shireen turns her flashlight to face it.

"Is that.. camping supplies?" she asks. Jeyne bites her lip.

“I’m not really into the outdoors,” Jeyne says, “but I thought that you might enjoy it.” 

Shireen smiles as she says, “it’s perfect.” She and Arya camped out in the yard more times than she can count, and Mr. Stark even took them on a few camping trips before Bran’s accident. She hasn’t been out of White Harbor in months, though, and she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed the fresh, woodsy air. It's one at night and dark as shit, but they grab their sleeping bags, water bottles, and a jug that looks suspiciously like gasoline out of the trunk and start hiking. They'll start a fire when they get there, and then they'll lie there under the stars and breath in campfire smoke and have an all around good night.

They set up a little pile of sticks that resembles a fire pit and toss a bit of kindling onto the top. She asks Jeyne, “Do you know how to start a fire?” 

“Of course,” Jeyne says, sounding annoyed at the very idea that she didn’t. She lights a tissue and then throws it onto the fire. Then, she pours a little bit of gasoline into a cup and throws it onto the little fire. The flame blossoms into life so quickly that Shireen lets out a little scream of surprise. 

“That,” Jeyne says, with a little bit of arrogance in her tone, “is how I set a fire.” 

“That’s not the way they taught us in Wildling Scouts,” Shireen says as she tries to catch her breath. 

Jeyne laughs, and says, “Whatever works works.” Shireen takes a second to drink in the atmosphere- dark sky, speckled with stars, beautiful girl illuminated only by the light of a campfire- brilliant smile crossing her face. The smoke smells warm and homey, and she enjoys it, even though she knows it will take multiple showers to wash out of her hair. Shireen has never felt more like she's living in a movie that's romantic and exciting rather than boring or tragic.

The warm light of the fire shines in Jeyne's dark brown eyes and gives them an ethereal sort of glow. Jeyne cracks a smile at her, the sort that seems sincerely happy and deeply sad at the same time. The campfire glows faintly in the background, and Jeyne takes out of her phone. She clicks the circular button on her iPhone and starts talking to Siri. 

“Play “Holy Ground” by Taylor Swift,” she says. 

“Taylor Swift?” Shireen asks, “really?” The opening chords start to play, and Jeyne slips the device into her pocket.

“Why not?” She asks with a little grin. 

“You are such a straight pre-teen girl,” Shireen mumbles. 

“Not straight,” Jeyne sing-songs. Shireen giggles, and wraps her arms around Jeyne’s shoulders. The shorter girl wraps hers around Shireen’s waist. They sway to the music, and Shireen only half listens to the lyrics. Jeyne’s giggling like a girl, and Shireen spins her around as Taylor Swift sings. 

_And for the first time I had something to lose,_ her heart nearly stops at the accuracy, but she pushes the lyric to the back of her mind. 

Jeyne holds her arm up as high as she can and says, “Spin, Shireen.” Shireen laughs as she tries to spin under the much shorter girl’s arm and they bounce and twirl until near the end of the song when Shireen’s a little out of breath. 

“I gotta slow down,” she says breathlessly, and Jeyne takes the hint. They sway as the music slows down, and Jeyne presses her face against Shireen’s shoulder. 

She sings along with the lyrics softly and a little off-key, “ _But I don’t wanna dance, if I’m not dancing with you_ .” When they're done dancing (four or five Taylor Swift songs later) Jeyne splays out her sleeping bag and takes out a secret container of marshmallows.

"You really thought of everything, didn't you?" Shireen asks. Jeyne shrugs, and grabs two long sticks from the pile for them to use to start toasting. Shireen sits by the fire and roasts marshmallows to golden, crispy perfection before she eats them. Jeyne shoves her stick into the hottest part of the fire and waits for her marshmallow to catch fire before blowing it out. She waits a few minutes for the scalded lump of what used to seem like a marshmallow to cool before eating it. 

“It tastes better this way,” Jeyne claims, and Shireen shouldn’t find that so cute. 

“It _looks_ like a fire hazard,” Shireen tells her seriously. 

“It doesn’t _taste_ like one,” Jeyne tells her. Shireen shrugs. Just because Jeyne seems to think that burnt marshmallows are a delicacy doesn't mean that Shireen has to eat them. They sit beside each other, basically in each other's laps. Shireen looks up at the stars.

“You know, my mother says that the stars are proof of R’hllor’s fiery glory,” Shireen says with a grin. She’s not sure why the thought makes her grin, but it does. 

“Really?” Jeyne asks, “how are flaming balls of gas, millions of miles away proof of anything?” 

“They’re flaming,” Shireen says, “which means they're made of fire, which apparently means that R'hllor made them.” Jeyne looks frustrated by her own failure to put the pieces together. 

“She’s still waiting for Azor Ahai,” Shireen says. 

“I didn’t think that Azor Ahai sounded like all that great of a guy,” Jeyne says. 

“Why’s that?” Shireen asks. 

“Nobody who hurts the woman that they _love,”_ Jeyne says, spitting the word like a curse, “ever loved her in the first place.” Shireen squeezes her hand, and doesn’t say anything. She knows that they’re not talking about Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa. Jeyne is talking about herself and her ex, whatever pile of mangled her back and made her feel like she wasn’t worth anything. Shireen squeezes her hand a little tighter, and one of Jeyne’s sobs gets caught in her throat. 

She cries into Shireen’s shoulder, and Shireen runs her fingers through her hair. 

"No one is ever going to hurt you like that again," Shireen promises, "I won't let them." It reminds Shireen of when Jeyne promised her that she would never let someone bully Shireen again. Maybe it's a foolish thing to promise- protection and happiness all from a few months of college bliss, but Shireen will do anything in her power to keep Jeyne from hurting like that again. If Shireen were Azor Ahai, she would have destroyed the person who suggested she harm Nissa Nissa. There's too much pain in the world to stomp out a wonderful person, a beacon of joy, just to bring yourself a little bit of power. She'd never forsake holy ground like that.


End file.
